


The Moon and the Sun

by SapphireSassenach



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:42:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireSassenach/pseuds/SapphireSassenach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little idea about what happened after Jamie pulled away from Claire after the Honeypot scene in 2x02</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon and the Sun

Heart pounding with shame and embarrassment, Jamie pulled away from his wife and rolled out of bed, reaching for the plaid he had left nearby. He felt each heartbeat throbbing against his chest and in his temples. He heard Claire sit up and her gaze was like a hot flame against his back as she watched him.

“Where are you going?” She asked in a quite voice, as if she was afraid to spook him, as if he were a child in constant need of reassurance.

“I canna stay here tonight, Claire. Not after I canna even kiss you for more than a moment, let alone make lov-

His bitter voice broke as he tried to speak. The truth of it stopped him. He was unable to make love to his wife. His beautiful, loving wife. Who had gone to lengths to try and seduce him. Unable to lay her down and worship her body as he had so many times before. He wasn’t a man. He was a disgrace that didn’t deserve to share her bed.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out and fled the room as fast as he could, avoiding those hawk eyes that could see right through him to the core. He was too afraid of what she’d find lurking in the dark corner of his battered soul.

Jamie clutched the plaid against him as he walked through the lavish apartment, so foreign to him, so different to the life he wanted. Stumbling a few times, he found his way to the daybed in the sitting room. A place unmarred by shame, by failure.

He let his head fall back and took a deep breath with his nose buried in the woven cloth. He almost could smell it, the fresh grass in the fields, the smell of onions and garlic simmering from Lallybroch’s kitchen.

Tears ran down his face as longing overwhelmed him. Longing for home, longing for the safe and familiar. And as much as he loved his homeland, his haven wasn’t there. It was lying in bed a few rooms away.

He clutched at his heart as pains shot through it, sharp as ice crystals. He bent over himself, trying to contain the sorrow and heartbreak. How he longed to burry his nose in her curls, to feel the softness of them, the wildness of them. He could still taste her on his lips. Sweet and warm, with a tinge of herbs and new perfume. A mix of their old and new.

He envisioned her touch, a touch he had fled from but a moment before. Jamie could feel it now burning through the fabric of his nightshirt into his very core. It felt so real, he could almost feel the warmth of her body next to him.

“Jamie.”

Shock ran through him as he quickly lifted his head to see his wife looking down at him concerned.

He quickly looked away, desperate to not see the disappointment that must live in her eyes.

“Go to bed, lass,” he whispered as he inched away from her hand and further into the darkness of the nook.

She simply stared at him for a few beats, clearly deciding her next course of action.

The streets of Paris were quite at this time of night and the servants had long gone to bed. The almost painful silence made him even more aware of her, if that were somehow possible. It felt as if the universe had left them alone in the world, two souls in desperate need to connect without the means or words to do so.

If was as if she was the sun and he was the moon, moving around in the sky, unable to ever meet. Her light unable to vanquish his darkness.

Making up her mind, she climbed into the bed and closed the doors behind her, leaving them in the midnight darkness. She crawled to his huddled form, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees.

She simply tugged at his arms until the fell away, unable to deny himself of her healing touch, and urged him to her until he crumped on to her lap like the broken thing he was.

Silent, hot tears began to run down his face once more as he clutched on to her middle, and buried his face in the very small swell of his child. The only pure part of himself left, living inside her.

A gentle hand began combing through his sweaty curls, smoothing and rubbing while humming a soothing tune that penetrated the silent night.

A sob caught in his throat as she held him. How could he deserve such love, such unconditional love? He didn’t, but yet here she was. Holding his soul between her fingertips, massaging life back into it.

Mumbling into her belly, he asked his thought aloud. “Why do ye put up with me?”

Her hands slowed as she heard his voice, which seemed to echo in the small space.

“You are my husband,” she answered simply as she leaned down and kissed his now cool forehead. Her touch replacing the fire with sweet, cool relief. “And I love you more than anyone or anything in this universe.”

He shook his head slowly as emotion ran through his body like a storm. She brought his face up to hers, the pitch black not allowing a hint of her face to be shown to him. But he didn’t need it. He knew ever inch of that ivory face, memorized as she slept next to him and as he told her the secret, silly things of his heart and soul.

Nose to nose, she whispered again. “For better or for worse, I will be here. I promised that to you.”

She wrapped her hand around his neck, pressing their foreheads together. “And I mean to keep it.”

His voice lost to him, it took a few minutes before he could reply to her oath. “Blood of my blood,” he whispered to her, the breath of his vow merging with hers.

“Bone of my bone,” she finished, her voice so soft and quiet, not even God could have heard her.

He nodded slightly against her, his throat filled with love. She kissed his cheek, warm and sticky from his earlier pain and she wrapped his plaid back around him, tucking in the edges and moved them both to lie down.

She clutched him to her breast and he knew home again with the feel of her heartbeat against his lips. She brought his injured hand to rest lightly on her bump and he felt the echo of her heart in her womb.

And he fell asleep, clutching the merging of their hearts and souls, safe in his palms.


End file.
